As the forward march of human progress has ground inevitably on (okay, there was that one backslide during the Dark Ages), one thing has remained constant: everyone wants to kiss each other, and yet for SOME reason society demands that we go through elaborate dating rituals before we can.

Admittedly, dating nowadays has got 14th century dating beat on a number of fronts. You can treat your date to a much wider variety of food and wine, there are fewer leeches involved, and most peoples' genitals don't "reek of history," if you know what I mean.

Not to mention the fact that you're in no real danger of getting your skull drilled "to release the evil spirits" if it doesn't work out. Also, you can date someone of the same sex and no one murders you a lot of the time.

But as fabulously enlightened as the current dating scene is, there's one that's got it beat: FUTURE DATING. Let me paint you a picture. With words. It's more of a story, really; forget the picture thing.

It's date night. Thanks to the ubiquitous surveillance systems and spyware woven into every facet of your life, you're all set to meet your scientifically determined, statistically perfect Facebook-approved date at her house. Sounds pretty normal, right?

Did I mention her house is in space?!

You can thank the space elevator for that little jab to God's eye. Even as I type this, scientists are hard at work figuring out how to make the really tall Jetson houses a reality. They claim the space elevator will allow for cheaper, more efficient space flight, a booming commercial industry, and innumerable research benefits. But of course, the truth of the matter is they've secretly figured out that global warming is going to kill all "surface dwellers" by 2085 and they've found an out.

Well, that's all well and good, because it means you and your date will be dining at the fabulous Uranus Grille (you wanted to go to the Pleiades Lounge, but the androids rented that out for some kind of "rise up against the humans" rally). From your booth on the 7.13x10^5th floor, you can enjoy an uninterrupted view of the decaying corpse of Earth while sharing some fresh, hot Uranus Leek Soup and trying not to giggle.

Thanks to your Axe: Pheremone body spray, dinner lasts all of fifteen minutes before you make filthy space-monkey love in the dumbwaiter. Afterwards, lying nude and exhausted in each others' arms beneath the glow of the Milky Way, you think to wonder why a space elevator would have a dumbwaiter in the first place.

Then you're summarily jettisoned into the sucking void of space, surviving only long enough to read the word "airlock" on your recently vacated love nest. That's right! No calling the next day!

And THAT, ladies and gentlemen, is what a date will be like in a hundred years. Truly, it will be a paradise without parallel. And the best part of all? You can pee right in your suit!